Lost Soul
by Dollar Short
Summary: No one noticed that Sam Winchester died when he was six months old, his soul shattered. A tiny sliver must have remained, animating the flesh and bone that grew and thrived. And now he's back from hell.
1. Chapter 1

**Lost Soul**

**S s S s S**

_Sept 2008 :A__/N: AU (it had better be AU. Kripke!) take on Sam. _

**_NOV 2010 ETA: _**_Ha ha Kripke! Anyway I've added another chapter__. _

**S s S s S**

Sam Winchester died when he was six months old. It is a sad indictment of the human condition that no one noticed.

A drop or two of demon blood and his soul was shattered, the fragments spinning of into the ether where they wait to be retrieved. Like that's ever going to happen. At least one tiny sliver must have remained, animating the flesh and bone that grew and thrived and for all their faults John and Dean Winchester loved that empty little fellow like he was one of their own.

To give the kid his due, he worked hard with what he had and although I'm no expert on these things I think he realized at a fairly young age that he was missing something. He did try; his achievement a pale imitation of what he might have been. In retrospect, I shouldn't have traded in my sense of humor, I'm sure his attempts at human empathy were tragically funny.

If his father or his brother had pulled their deluded heads out of their dogmatic asses and bothered to look at what was going on they might have noticed their little Sammy was, shall we say, a little off, not quite as present as the average snotty nosed brat. Carefully watching their every move, aping their actions, emulating their emotions, bad move that one Sam, and striving to be normal, even when he didn't know what that meant. Monkey see, monkey do.

Pity Winchester standards deviated so far from the norm. John Winchester was nothing more than a sociopath wrapped up in a fancy package of revenge and a testosterone fuelled sense of misplaced justice. Saving people? Yeah, right.

He didn't notice that his success rate slumped considerably once he let his youngest join the hunt. Didn't notice those he was supposedly saving from the evil forces of the night dropping like flies or how all those dreadful ghoulies and ghosties were drawn to the kid. Dead moths to an unfeeling flame.

Really, how dumb do you have to be not to notice the trail of bodies and chaotic destruction that followed in the kid's wake? Pretty dumb, right? Humans don't deserve no dominion, if you ask me. And when the kid left for college, in yet another failed attempt to fit in, Winchester Senior still didn't twig. I was almost tempted to step in and point out the obvious, especially as Azazel was floating around and gloating, yanking his sad little marionette this way and that.

I wasn't that interested in the trials and tribulations of the Winchesters, however in my line of work it's prudent to keep an eye on what your rivals and relatives are up to. I'd known that over-ambitious yellow eyed hustler for longer than I cared to remember. Too many fingers in too many pies, served him right in the end.

Surprisingly, Sam remains perversely oblivious to his true nature, as does his brother, mayhem nipping at their heels, corpses piling up left, right and centre. Dean's a smart one, for a human, sharp eyes, good instincts; you'd think he would have put two and two together by now. Immune to demonic viruses, my foot. I'd be willing to cut him some slack, especially since his very recent sojourn to that place, if it wasn't for the fact that being dragged back to the earthly plane by that sanctimonious prick Castiel should have clued the idiot into the hard facts about his dear brother.

I mean, come on. Did he think it was that easy for a crossroads demon, no better than an indentured servant, to raise the dead intact? Dude, as he would say, wake up and smell the gopher dust.

Only angels get to drag souls out of hell or anywhere else, now that I think about it. Getting a soul back into its rotting vessel takes some nifty footwork and those crossroads slackers ain't up to the task. Now patching up a mostly unoccupied meat suit and letting it loose on an unsuspecting world, well within their comfort level. The contents may shift during transit, but who's going to notice the difference?

Dean had his concerns, I know, trouble is when he attempted to articulate them all he saw was those concerns reflected back at him. Sam's a mirror, show him an emotion and it bounces right back at ya. That's what things like him do; I've met enough of them.

I wonder if Dean will ever wise up? Probably not, he's only human after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Lost Soul**

**Chapter 2**

**S s S s S**

I was wrong, you know, about Sam Winchester. I thought he'd never pull it off, that he didn't have it in him. It seems he had enough. I heard all about his thirst for demon blood and I thought that was it. Sam Winchester reverting to type, becoming what he truly was; a mostly soulless creature caught in the treacherous world somewhere between human-imagined reality and the uncontained infinity of the other side.

I don't think there was anyone or anything that really believed that he could do it; defeat Lucifer and send him back to his cage. Not even Dean. For all his love for his little brother Dean never had much faith in the kid, but then again neither did I. Now he's back. I knew about it not long after it happened, I knew we'd cross paths eventually and I admit I was curious. I'd been working on a few projects, trying to tidy up some loose ends; all those demonic shenanigans disrupted some long-term business ventures. Mopping up after a near miss apocalypse can be a real bitch, I tell ya.

Oh, that Crowley, he's a real player. He likes to think of himself as a cut above the rest and while it's true he's certainly smarter than the average bear he doesn't know everything. Makes my job a whole lot easier. King of Hell, I choked on my latte when I heard that one. Apparently, he had some help from a most unlikely source, asking for trouble both of them. I gotta say angels really get my goat.

Then one day, not so long ago, Sam Winchester shows up on my doorstep. Just passing through, he says. I let him in and make him a nice cup of tea.

There's something different about the lad. He drinks his tea in silence, clear eyes staring at me over the rim of his teacup. I stare back. I have some questions. Information is power, as they say. He'll probably lie, but I've been around far too long to be fooled by anything this little human hybrid has to say and if the way he's eyeing me is anything to go by I think that he's beginning to understand that. It's one of the reasons I've kept my distance, it's always been in his nature, that strong invisible thread entwining him with the supernatural. If he'd ever thought to look, he'd have seen it. I suppose I should be grateful for Dean's influence, his expectations of Sam's inherent humanity kept his brother on the straight and narrow. I wonder how their lives would have turned out if they'd known, if Dean had known what Sam had always been.

We take our seats at the kitchen table. There is certainly no need to stand on ceremony and maybe manners maketh man but nobody under my roof falls into that category. I get the ball rolling.

"So you made a deal?" I put it bluntly. He cocks his head as if considering his answer.

"I don't remember anything," he lies and sips his tea.

"That so?" I say, "Don't kid a kidder, sonny boy. Although I'd like to know what you had to trade. I can't imagine your scrap of a soul was worth much to anyone."

Sam doesn't miss a beat. He carefully places his teacup in the saucer and reaches for the pot. "Good tea." He nods, refilling his cup. "Milk please." I pass it over.

"Cookie?" I offer. Homemade chocolate chip, I'm a dab hand in the kitchen. He takes two and munches on one, smiling contentedly for a minute.

"Good," he swallows. "You're looking at it from the wrong perspective. If I did indeed make a deal, as you suggest, what would I gain from it?"

"They let you out. Hmm." I ponder the problem. "Yes, I see what you mean. Being topside and soulless isn't much of an advantage in of itself. Have you seen Dean yet?" I interrupt my train of thought. A quick shake of his head is his only reply. "Probably for the best, He'll most likely try and kill you if he finds out." Sam inclines his head in agreement and stuffs another cookie into his mouth.

"But they took what was left anyway." I look at Sam across the table. "You know, Sammy, you shouldn't exist. Unless somebody powerful is pulling your strings." I have a cookie myself. "They found the pieces, didn't they? Someone has your soul, all of it." I have a good idea who that might be. "What do you have to do to get it back?"

Sam smiles, "Sorry, bound to secrecy. You know how it is." He gives a little sigh of regret and blinks at me. There's something reflected in his eyes that reminds me of someone I met once, a long, long time ago. There aren't many beings that can give breath and warmth to human clay, fewer still that can keep it separate from its soul and yet still have it talk the talk and walk the walk. Let's just say you need a big wallop of grace for that little conjuring trick.

"Be careful, Sam" I don't why I suddenly feel the urge to warn him, pity is not an emotion I waste time on, that said whatever he was or is it's never been his choice. "The way I remember it, he's an arrogant bastard whose mercy has always been strained. It's only a deal until he decides differently."

His eyes flare suddenly, the air crackles for a split second and then Sam laughs quietly.

"I know," he gazes blankly at me, "I know."

I watch him leave and wonder if I'll ever get to meet the Sam Winchester who died that day in a small house in Kansas.


End file.
